Hands
by E. G. Morgan
Summary: When Ketura is sent out to fetch water one day, she meets three men on a mission for their Teacher, and she is ecstatic to learn that this is the Rabbi she has always wanted to meet, one who preaches a message of salvation and eternal life. Finished.
1. Chapter 1

The earthen jar quickly vanished as it was lowered by a coarse rope down into darkness, but appeared again, dripping with moisture, heavy with the liquid gushing forth from the earth, billowing in great, cool waves from beneath the hard soil, barely contained within a shaft of stone. Hands of a cinnamon hue poured the contents of one jar into another, which was then born carefully from the reservoir to a well-furnished house. Not a drop was spilled.

Once inside the house, the hands carried the jar through a curtained doorway into a walled-in courtyard. Aside from the flowering trees, green plants, fountains, and furniture was a man wearing magnificently embroidered and perfectly tailored clothes, lounging on jeweled cushions, snacking on dates and other good foods. The owner of the copper-coloured hands broke a peaceful silence with a voice shaking from trepidation.

"I fetched the water, Abrasha."

A rustling of fine fabric followed this statement, and the reclining man turned to look at the person who spoke. His brow furrowed as he scrutinized, hungry eyes roving over the jar, the hands, the face, the body of the speaker. He inhaled the scent of his own expensive perfume and spoke. "I see that you have." The rustle was heard again as the man rose from his comfortable position on the cushions and smiled smugly. He took several steps toward the hands, which began to shake. The water in the jar rippled. The man's smile widened. He trailed a perfectly manicured finger down the soft, tan cheek of the owner of the hands. His voice flowed smooth as cream as he said, "Go put your jar away, water girl, and come back to me." There was a tone in his voice that implied his authority, and it made the hands tremble more. The water girl knew better than to disobey.

She nodded and turned back the way she had come, but pretended to trip and fall. The jar fell to the dirt floor and cracked, water leaking out and spreading quickly over the ground. Before the girl had any chance to act surprised, the richly-garbed man pulled her forcefully to her feet and hit the cheek he had just caressed with the back of his hand. "Clumsy ox!" he cried, and shoved her toward the curtained doorway. "You will go back to that well and get more water, or you will wish you had never been born!"

The water girl stumbled in confusion and ran back to the well as salty tears spilled from her soft brown eyes, grabbing another jug on her way out of the house. As soon as she had returned to the safety of the spring, the false tears stopped and she shivered. What could have been a nightmare only resulted in a red welt across a soft, tan cheek. The water girl set down the jug and lowered the earthenware jar tied to a coarse rope with hands of a cinnamon hue.

Ketura no longer felt safe and happy in her own home, the large, two-story building by the entrance to the city. Her father was a rich merchant, who often invited wealthy guests to stay at his house. One of these guests was Abrasha, a young man of only twenty-four years. Though he was almost ten years her elder, he often used her as a play thing in his spare time. Of course, he was rich. He could get away with that kind of thing. If Ketura acted and dressed like the daughter of a merchant, Abrasha wouldn't lay a hand on her, but she dressed as a servant to help her father run the house and was often mistaken as one. This was one of those times.

Her jug refilled, Ketura loitered by the well, not wishing to go back just yet. She nodded and smiled at the old and young women fetching water for their own households, listening to the "how is your family"s and "please join us for the Passover"s and the other pointless conversations. Suddenly there was a lull in the conversation, and Ketura looked up to see three men, two possibly in their thirties and one in his twenties. The women clucked over them, and most left without even a 'hello'. They were strangers here. It did not take long for all of the women to leave, and Ketura stood staring at them. They were talking among themselves, and the youngest would glance at the well every once in a while. The water girl knew they must have traveled far, by the dust on their feet and cloaks, and the thirst in their eyes. She took pity.

"Here," she said, offering her jug to them. "You must by thirsty."

The men exchanged glances, and finally one of the older men took the jug from her with a warm smile. "Thank you," he stated, then took a drink from the jug. He passed it around to his comrades, who drank from it as well. When the jug had been returned, Ketura asked them, "Would you care to join us for the Feast of Unleavened Bread? There is room at our table." She knew her father cared little for the Passover, and would probably spend it in his apartments, but Ketura celebrated it every year, most times alone. There was no doubt that they would have room at their table – it would be empty aside from her.

Communicating with their eyes, the men had a silent conversation. The one that had taken the jug from her looked into her eyes and smiled. "We have been sent ahead to make preparations for the Passover. If you have a room that we may use, we would be grateful."

Ketura nodded and smiled. The youngest one was smiling back, and he had a rather intent look in his eyes. With a nod of her head, Ketura turned to leave. "Follow me," she said, beginning to walk back to her house. They followed.

Once inside, Ketura led them up a flight of stairs to a large upper room, furnished with a long table surrounded by cushions. The men looked at each other and nodded their approval. Each thanked her, then set about making whatever preparations they needed to make. She stood at the top of the stairs, waiting to see if they would need anything. Finally, the youngest man turned and spotted her, then walked toward her.

"Thank you again for your generosity," he began with a smile. "I am Andrew." He pointed to the next youngest man. "That is my brother Simon, called Peter. And the other," he added, pointing to the oldest of them all, "is John. What is your name?"

The girl looked down and blushed. "Ketura," she said softly. She had spoken to only a few men in her life, and she didn't quite know how to handle herself in their presence. Abrasha had confused her.

Andrew nodded. "I am glad to meet you." He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her head gently so she was forced to look into his eyes. The expression there was a friendly one. "Why do you hide your face? I will not harm you. I would only like to talk."

Ketura smiled at him, falling in love with his warm, gentle, brown eyes, so like her own. "What would you like to talk about, Andrew?" she asked, her voice still soft but gaining confidence.

The boy took her arm and led her to the table, where he sat on a cushion and motioned for her to do the same. "Whatever you like. Ask me a question, and I will answer it."

Making herself comfortable on the cushion, Ketura searched in her mind for a suitable question. There was much she wished to know about him, for he was a handsome young man full of kindness and intrigue. But they had only just met. She asked, instead, about something the one called John had said earlier. "Who is your teacher?"

"I'm sure you have heard of him," Andrew said with a smile. He leaned forward, seeming eager to converse with her. "He is Jesus, the greatest Teacher in the world. He is the Son of God." She saw John and Simon Peter look up from their preparations at the name of Jesus.

Ketura's eyes widened. "You are the disciples of the Saviour!" she exclaimed. "He will come here? He will stay the Passover in my house?" She had heard so much about this Jesus, and had always wished that some day he would come to her home. Her wish had come true; she could finally serve him wine and food and sit at his feet listening to him teach. It was all coming true,

Andrew laughed. "Yes. You will hear him teach." But he frowned as a worried look crossed Ketura's face. "What is it?"

"I do not have enough food," she said. "I have prepared my own Feast, but I have not enough to feed you and your Teacher. I need to bake bread, and buy parsely..." She stood and started to walk toward the stairs quickly, afraid she would be unprepared for the coming of Jesus. Andrew followed her and laid a hand on her shoulder, turning her around.

"Show me where you keep your flour, and I will help you bake bread." He smiled at her and took her arm to lead her down the stairs. "Do not fret, everything will work out." Ketura showed him to the kitchen, and they began to make preparations for the Passover, and the coming of the Christ.


	2. Chapter 2

While Ketura busied herself with pouring wine into carafes and setting places at the table in the large upper room of her house, the three apostles stood by the well, talking and laughing and otherwise waiting for Jesus and the others to arrive. The poor girl's hands shook as she laid out trays of parsley and unleavened bread, and as she set the bowl of salt water on the table some of the liquid sloshed onto her hand, drying her skin as it evaporated. She bit her lip as she looked around and arranged cushions, trying to find something that was imperfect, something that Jesus would notice. 'It is hard to think like the Son of God,' she thought, guessing that his omniscience would enable him to find flaws in the food, the cushions, the very floor on which he walked. And so she spent the last precious minutes she had organizing and reorganizing, setting and resetting. And finally, he came.

She heard a slight commotion in the street below. Her heart leapt up into her throat as she peered through the window, and she almost choked when she saw Him. He was holy from the top of his head to the bottom of his sandaled feet, and she knew she didn't deserve to kiss the ground he walked on, let alone watch him enter her house with his twelve disciples. Before she knew what was happening, they were climbing the stairs, and Ketura knew what she had to do. She ran.

Taking a carafe of wine with her, that she might be able to serve Him and His followers, she passed through a curtained doorway into a small room, where food and other necessities were kept during elaborate dinner parties. She waited behind the fabric of the curtain, her breath coming in short, quiet gasps and her heart pounding frantically. _He_ was here. _He_ was in her house!

She listened to the rustle of coarse cloth, dusty from a day's traveling, as they reclined on the cushions. The murmur of voices as they discussed there memories of the day, the work they had done. The clink of bowls as the wine was poured. But suddenly the murmurs grew fainter, then started up again louder. There was not enough wine to go around.

Then she heard His voice. It wasn't smooth and sweet as honey; it was a normal voice, rougher than Abrasha's. "Is there more wine?" he asked, and there was something in his voice that she rarely heard in a question. It was as if he knew there was more, as if he knew exactly where she was. Ketura gulped down some air to steady her shaking hands, knowing she would have to face him now. Then another voice said, "Ketura said she had enough wine. I saw her put the other carafe on the table." The voice belonged to Andrew.

Ketura slowly stepped through the curtains and blushed profusely as twenty-six eyes turned to her. She could feel them raking over her like fingers. Without a word, she began to walk around the table, pouring red wine into each empty bowl. Finally, she reached the last bowl and looked into the eyes of its owner.

His eyes were brown, warm and gentle as a sheep's wool. He had a black beard and black hair, and he was smiling. And suddenly Ketura wasn't afraid. She looked straight into his eyes and smiled back. He took her hand and gently tugged her down to sit beside him, and she did, pouring wine into his bowl when she was comfortable. She was vaguely aware of the disciples staring at her still, but she just didn't care. She was sitting beside the Messiah, the Son of God, and he was smiling, and that was all that mattered.

Eventually the talking continued, and Ketura conversed with the others as if she were one of them. She listened to Jesus teach, and she listened to Andrew, who was sitting beside her, explain what He was saying. Ketura was only fifteen, and she couldn't always understand His lessons.

The talking ceased once more as Jesus held up his hand. He opened his mouth to speak. "I've waited eagerly to eat this Passover with you before I suffer," he said, causing a few quiet objections from the men around the table. "I won't eat it again until it finds fulfillment in the kingdom of God."

The apostles turned to look at each other, and Ketura shared their confusion. How could Jesus suffer? He was the Son of God! Surely his Father would not let his only son suffer. What was this madness?

He lifted his bowl of wine and silently blessed it. They looked on in awe as he slowly brought it back down and looked around at them. Then he said, "Take this and divide it among you. I will not drink again of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes." He passed the bowl around the table, and each disciple poured some of the wine into his own bowl. Ketura went through the motions, not knowing what she was doing.

When that was finished, he picked up the plate of unleavened bread and blessed it as he had blessed the wine. He broke it into two pieces and passed each half around the table. Ketura, on one side of Jesus, and John, on the other, simply stared at him, confusion clouding their eyes. Jesus smiled at them reassuringly and said, "This is my body given for you. You each shall eat of it, and hereafter you will do this in remembrance of me." It was a gentle request, and he didn't even need to say 'please' – he knew they would do whatever he asked them to do. After the bread and wine had been distributed, the conversation turned to other matters, and the Feast resumed.

Halfway through the meal, Andrew passed a bowl of fruit to Ketura, who reached out to take it from him. As the bowl was sent on, their fingers brushed gently together, and both blushed as they looked away. The girl kept her head down as she passed the bowl on to Jesus, but she felt Andrew's gaze heavy upon her. This scenario was repeated several times during the meal, whether Andrew was passing something to her, or if she was passing something to him. And every time, they would blush, and Ketura would wonder what she was feeling, why there were butterflies in her stomach, and why there seemed to be sparks whenever their skin rubbed together.

The dinner ended, and each man had untied his belt just a little, and all were loudly complimenting the wonderful meal. Ketura only blushed and smiled, confused as to how her cheeks could become any warmer. That was when Jesus held up his hand again, and once more complete silence fell over the table.

Jesus reached for the wine carafe and poured the ruby-red liquid into his bowl. As each man waited with bated breath, he lifted the bowl and blessed it, just as he had before. "This cup is the new covenant in my blood," he said quietly, "which has been poured out for you. But one of you will betray me – he is sitting at the table with me." Almost before he could finish his sentence, the men were already making loud objections and questioning among themselves who would betray the Lord. Ketura and Andrew exchanged glances, wondering who it could be.

John spoke up. "The Lord has said this will come to pass, and it will. We need not argue about it. Even the greatest of us could not change the will of God."

Then one of the other disciples raised his head and hands, crying, "Who is the greatest, John?"

Another dispute instantly broke out, but fell quiet as Jesus raised his hand once more. He had every one of the men – and woman – around the table wrapped around his finger. "The greatest among you should be like the youngest, and the one who rules like the one who serves." He looked pointedly at Andrew, who was the youngest, and then at Ketura, who obviously served. "Among you, the one who serves you best will be your leader. You would say the master sits at the table and is served by his servents. But not here, for I am your servant. Now, because you have stood by me through many trials, I give you the right to eat and drink at my table in my Kingdom."

Then he looked at Simon Peter, Andrew's brother, and all eyes followed his gaze in expectation. "Simon. Satan has asked to have you. But I have prayed for you, that you would not lose all of your faith, and when you had repented you would build up the faith of your brothers." A murmur arose around the table. A look of horror crossed Simon's face, but was replaced by fierce determination.

"Lord, I am ready to go to jail with you. I would die with you," he said, his voice soft and shaking with a little bit of fear.

Jesus smiled and shook his head. "Before the rooster crows, you will betray me three times." When more objections finally died down, he continued. "When I sent you out to teach, did you lack anything?"

The men looked around at each other. "Nothing," John said, speaking for all of them.

"Now," Jesus said, "if you have a purse, take it, and also a bag. If you don't have a sword, sell your cloak and buy one."

Ketura spoke up, raising her voice to address the entire table. "My father owns two swords that he no longer wants."

Jesus nodded. "That is enough." He rose from the table, his disciples following suit. Ketura looked up at him, and his eyes were kind and warm. "Thank you for your hospitality, Ketura." The girl nodded and watched as they filed down the stairs, John leading the disciples. Jesus pulled Andrew aside and said, "Go down and speak to the master of this house. He has been looking for a man to ask for his daughter's hand in marriage."

Andrew frowned. "I don't understand what you mean, Lord."

Jesus smiled and looked over at Ketura, who was watching them. "Ask for Ketura; she will be given you." And without saying anything more, he followed the apostles down the stairs.

The boy looked after him in confusion, but soon a look of realization crossed his face. He turned to Ketura, who was now standing, and ran to sweep her up into a breath-taking kiss. She was shocked at first, but when they parted she was smiling. "Oh, Ketura," Andrew breathed, smiling happily. "Would you marry me? I know I only met you today, but I feel I've known you forever and I love you from the depths of my soul! If you return my love, I will ask your father for your hand tonight."

She grinned. "Of course I return your love, Andrew. How could I not?" Tears of joy sprang to her eyes, and he wiped them away with his thumb. He wrapped her into a tight embrace and kissed her again, wishing that he would never have to let go.


	3. Chapter 3

Silent tears streamed, unrelenting, down her face, her body shaking with sobs. The scene was a blur, and she was thankful the tears altered her vision; she couldn't watch any more. But she heard his voice, soft and sweet, and she wiped the tears from her eyes. "Ketura," he whispered. "Ketura."

Her eyes traveled from the stony ground, up to the bloody holes through each foot where they were pinned to the wood, up to his torso, up to his face, white with pain but still smiling. Her tearful gaze drifted from one bleeding hand to the other, then settled in despair back on his face. "Ketura," he said.

Ketura smiled sadly, her dark lashes heavy with moisture. "Yes, Andrew?"

His face contorted with pain, but he continued speaking. "Please, remember to do everything that Jesus has taught you, and continue my work. For me?"

Her tears fell harder. "Anything for you, my love."

"My brother would have gladly taken care of you," he began, then slowly turned his head. Simon Peter was hanging on a cross that had been driven into the ground only three feet from his own. Tears came to the boy's eyes. "But I'm afraid you'll have to find someone else to take care of you. You've always been strong, darling. And beautiful. So beautiful..." he added with a smile, moving his hand as if he wanted to stroke her cheek.

Ketura's vision became blurry again, and she buried her head in her hands. Simon Peter would have taken Ketura as his own wife, doing his duty as a brother. When Andrew died, Ketura would have had a good home. But now she would just be a widow, not yet seventeen years old. Their time together had been far too short. After a marriage of only eighteen months, Andrew had been cruelly taken from her and hung on a cross, as his Saviour had been taken before him.

"And Ketura..." he said, his voice coming softly, "... my lovely Ketura..." His eyes began to close, and he smiled contentedly. "Know that I love you with all of my being... and we... will be together... soon..."

"Andrew!" Ketura screamed, sobs choking her, as his head rolled to his chest and her one true love breathed his last breath. Andrew, Ketura's friend, lover, and husband, was dead; crucified for his beliefs on two crossed boards in the shape of an 'x', two points of which were buried in the ground. He passed with his legs and arms apart, with nails through both hands and feet. He was dead, and Ketura wept until she could weep no more. With dry eyes, she stood and walked away.

When she had walked only twenty paces, she heard a woman's cries, much like her own only a few moments ago. "Why are you crying?" she asked gently. The woman looked up.

"I have sinned," she sobbed. "I have sinned!"

"Stop crying, woman. The Lord will forgive your sins," Ketura said reassuringly.

The woman's tears ceased. "What lord can do this?"

Ketura smiled and began her story.

The End


End file.
